I Just Thought It'd be You
by ziapluradon
Summary: Forty-two years after the Battle of Five Armies, Bilbo's memories of Thorin and imaginings of what their life together would have been like dominate his life back in the Shire. A story of heartbreak and healing (rated M for future chapters; updates coming at least once a month)
1. Chapter 1

Bilbo fumbled briefly with his keys before opening the door to Bag End, kneeling down to get on eye level with the little hobbit who stood next to him on the doorstep.

"Well we're finally here! It's been a long walk today, but I think you'll like it here. There's a garden and other children who live nearby – Samwise Gamgee is about your age, you might get on quite nicely."

Frodo looked down at his feet, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he played with the hem of his shirt.

"I've got a room ready for you, it's right next to mine – but if you'd rather sleep in my room for now that's okay too," Bilbo said, gently ruffling the boy's hair. He stood, and pointed at the open door down the hall. "There's your room if you'd like to take a look."

The little hobbit nodded and began to look around the smial, stopping in front of where Sting was mounted on the wall. "Uncle!" he shouted, eyes wide as he pointed up, "That's a sword!"

"That's Sting," Bilbo replied as he walked over. "I got it from the Trollshaws on my adventure with Th- the dwarves from Erebor."

"Dwarves?" asked Frodo. "Can I meet the dwarves? When are they coming back?"

Bilbo paused. _No, no, no, curly brown hair, blood, no, green vest, rosy cheeks, anything but that tent – _he felt his chest grow tight – _hardwood floor, white wa_-

A tug on his shirt pulled him out of his thoughts.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I'm hungry."

"Well let's get you all washed up for afternoon tea then, shall we?" Bilbo said, a fond smile on his face as he took Frodo's hand and started down the hall.

* * *

After afternoon tea and dinner, but before supper, the two of them took a walk through Hobbiton and the sun was setting as they walked back up Bagshot Row.

"Look, Uncle Bilbo! Fireflies!" Frodo took off, laughing.

Bilbo stopped to just watch his nephew have fun. It was the first time since before Primula and Drogo's accident nearly a month ago that he saw Frodo look so carefree.

_And it's not like you're unfamiliar with this process_, Bilbo reminded himself. For the first time in forty-two years the tension fell from Bilbo's shoulders as he watched the child leaping after the fireflies that seemed always just out of the hobbit's reach.

As Bilbo stood there, he wondered what the day would have been like if Thorin had been there even though he got the feeling that if Thorin had known of his thoughts he would have glowered. _Hush, you. I know you would have stayed in Erebor and that I would have been there with you – but that doesn't mean I can't imagine._

Bilbo knew that Thorin would have adored the chance to raise a child again, especially one that wasn't nearly half the menace Fili & Kili were. Thinking about this reopened a hole in his chest and the hobbit's smile faltered; he was completely unaware of the way his hand went into his waistcoat pocket and started fiddling with the pipe there.

_Not a day goes by where I don't imagine what my life would be like with you_.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I put a lot of research into these foods and any mentioned recipes. The seed cake recipe I use in this chapter can be found at a blog called bonappetit! The entry is called "What Hobbits like to Eat" (and is full of stuff I'd definitely be interested in baking!)**

**Oh also: I'm going to try to update this story at least once a week, hopefully multiple times a week until classes start back up again :]  
Please review and let me know what you think of the story so far? (I'm open to suggestions of where to take it)**

**CHAPTER WARNING: violence**

* * *

The two hobbits stood at the counter, Frodo on a chair, as Bilbo flipped through his family's cookbook in order to find the seed-cake recipe that his mother perfected one particularly long winter. The cookbook was littered with her notes on how to make the recipes better in her tight yet elegant script.

Frodo laughed as Bilbo sang a song about a cow jumping over the moon – one Bilbo composed himself. But the little hobbit did not reach for the flour, incessantly ask questions about the recipe, or make the mess his uncle had come to expect from the few times he'd seen Frodo prior to his parents' accident. Instead, he stood on his chair watching Bilbo flip through the cookbook, white-knuckled hands grasping the chair as if he were going to fall off any moment.

"You know, my mother and I used to prepare all of our meals together," Bilbo said as he looked over at his nephew.

Frodo started wringing his hands and looked down, mumbling "So did momma and me."

Bilbo ignored his nephew's grammar and instead placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He paused as he tried to figure out what to say next, torn between trying to shield his nephew from the realities of loss and being honest about his own experiences. _Thorin, what should I do?_ There was silence for a moment more as he thought back to Bofur and Ori pestering him to eat in the days after the Battle.

"Frodo, did your mom ever make you seed-cakes?"

The little hobbit nodded.

"Well, did I ever tell you about the time thirteen dwarves and a wizard came into Bag End and ate every single one of the cakes I had in my pantry?" Bilbo paused, remembering the thirteen dwarves who crowded his kitchen and the sweet compliments from Dori, Ori, and Kíli. He grinned, although it didn't quite reach his eyes, and tousled Frodo's hair. "Just like one little hobbit I know, coming here and eating all of my seed cakes when my back was turned!"

Frodo giggled trying to push his uncle's hand away. "I'm not a dwarf!"

"But you certainly have the appetite of one! Look at my poor pantry since you came to live with me!" He placed a hand on his forehead as if he were going to faint and gave a dramatic sigh. "Eating me out of house and home!"

Frodo stuck his tongue out, but his stomach rumbling cut off any reply before it could leave his lips.

"Ah! Here it is! Frodo my lad, let's get started!" He handed Frodo a small stack of measuring cups and pointed to a large bowl. "I need you to put three and a half cups of flour in there" as he started cracking six eggs into another bowl. As he whisked those together, he looked up to find that Frodo had somehow managed to get more flour all over his clothes and the countertop than actually into the bowl.

"M-most of the mess is from making sure I had the cup exactly filled I promise I know how important it is to make sure all of the measurements are exact when you bake m-momma always told me that-" Bilbo cut the little hobbit off by throwing a pinch of flour at him – and before he knew it a full-fledged flour fight ensued.

After they ran out of flour, Frodo and Bilbo shared a dinner of cold chicken and vegetables.

"Look at us! Such a mess! We need to get you all cleaned up, little dwarf" Bilbo declared as he stood to wipe as much flour off his person as possible.

Bilbo came back to find that Frodo fell asleep at the table. With a small sigh Bilbo picked his nephew up and carried him to his new room, leaving the mess in the kitchen for tomorrow.

* * *

As Bilbo opened his eyes he could feel a large, calloused hand stroking his side and a familiar mouth kissing up the side of his neck to a sensitive ear. His breath hitched and the hand slid down to his groin. A firm squeeze quickly turned into slow, firm strokes that quickly brought the hobbit to attention.

"M-more."

The hand stopped stroking him. It moved up to grip his waist and press his back down toward the bed and suddenly there was a waterfall of hair above him.

Bilbo wasn't able to stifle a gasp. The close-cropped beard, the blue eyes, thick brows, the cuff on one ear, the twin braids … "Thorin."

"I-I thought you were killed."

"It was just a bad dream, Bilbo. I'm right here," he smiled and placed one hand on Bilbo's cheek, "I'd never leave you. Wherever you are, azyungal, is the only place I want to be."

One moment the dwarf was smiling down at him and the next his mouth was pressed against his, hungry and demanding more.

Bilbo felt a familiar weight pressing up against one of his thighs and he smiled into the kiss, thrusting his hips and desperate for more friction.

"Anything for you," and then the next thing Bilbo knew that mouth was on his ear, biting and sucking and nibbling. He could hear his own breathing, fast and gasping.

Bilbo moved his hands to the two thick braids and used them to steer his lover's head back for another kiss, this one all teeth and tongue as Thorin continued to stroke the hobbit's erection.

Meanwhile, Bilbo explored the muscled planes of Thorin's chest and back, although the hand stroking him made it hard to concentrate. _It's all scar tissue, all of the wounds he received at the Battle of Five Armies_, tears began to sting at his eyes_, they've all scarred over. Healed. He survived._

Bilbo broke the kiss and locked eyes with Thorin, one hand wrapping around the dwarf's member. "Mine," he stated before moving his mouth to Thorin's neck, sucking on the salty skin there as he started stroking his throbbing erection; the resulting moans were music to his ears.

"Halfling, I need you now," Thorin stated and then flipped Bilbo over onto his stomach. He wasted no time in grabbing the hobbit's ass and spreading it wide, sending shivers down Bilbo's spine as Thorin's tongue found his entrance and pressed past the tight ring of muscle.

He whined when Thorin moved his face away, only to find Thorin's tongue quickly replaced with a well-oiled finger. "Th-Thorin!" he gasped, losing himself in pleasure as Thorin quickly circled his hole before adding a second finger. Bilbo squirmed and panted, crying out every time Thorin hit his prostate. By the time Thorin slipped a third finger in, Bilbo's hips strained as he frantically impaled himself on the fingers of his beloved.

"Please, now, please just take me now!"

A cold hand pushed Bilbo down onto the bed and he quickly rolled over, annoyed. "Thorin, what do yo-" he stopped. Whatever was on the bed with him wasn't Thorin.

Couldn't be Thorin.

Its body was covered in a myriad of cuts, all gaping and rotted – but none of them bled.

Bilbo looked up at the thing's face and screamed, tears falling freely as he tried to get off the bed. Thorin lunged forward and grabbed his wrist, jerking him painfully back.

The smell made Bilbo gag and the cold, dead flesh made him shiver for all the wrong reasons.

_No, no, no, no this isn't happening – this _can't_ be happening!_

Thorin leaned his head down and whispered "I'm here, Bilbo," chunks of Bilbo didn't want to know what spraying against his ear and jaw. "Don't cry," Bilbo felt his hand pressed up against the wound just above Thorin's heart and he stifled a sob, "you're not the one who **died** that day, who lost a **kingdom** and their **family** that day…"

The cold, clammy hand released his wrist but Bilbo was too scared to move. He shook in that embrace; a mockery of the arms that once protected him.

A rough tug on his hair pulled Bilbo's head back to a painful angle, Thorin's rotting face inches from his own. Bilbo tried to move away, but the grip only tightened and he cried out in pain.

A twisted feral grin appeared on Thorin's face as he moved closer. "…thief."

"Y-you said you understood, Thorin," and his eyes widened with fear "and you f-forgave me."

"And why," his manic smirk only got bigger, "would I forgive a **thief**?"

Fear settled in his belly like a rock dropped into a lake and suddenly Thorin's hands were around his neck, pushing him back into the bed where he straddled the hobbit's waist. Hair cascaded down Thorin's shoulders and Bilbo tried to push the dwarf off of him.

"No Thorin you lo-"

But the hands tightening around his throat cut him off.

Panicking, Bilbo pushed against the chest of the dwarf that once loved him, fingers slipping into wounds and flesh getting caught under his fingernails. The world started getting fuzzy and Bilbo only fought harder.

The last thing he heard as the world went black was laughter.

* * *

"Uncle Bilbo!"

Bilbo shot up, gasping and struggling to breathe.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here's a little bit of story to advance the plot that doesn't really fit into the next chapter, so it's going up on it's own. **

**CHAPTER WARNING: none**

* * *

Bilbo's hands flew to his throat; shoulders relaxing slightly when he realized his throat wasn't burning with pain. _It was just a dream. A really bad, absolutely terrifying dream._

He sat on his bed struggling to slow his breathing down, aware of the little hands holding tight to the blanket on his lap. Despite the characteristic darkness of the middle of the night, Bilbo was able to make out Frodo sittings next to him in silence, eyes wide.

"I," he cleared his throat, "I'm fine." A shaky smile was the best he could manage, pulling his nephew into a one-armed hug. "Did I wake you?"

Frodo nodded into his uncle's chest. "You were yelling. A-at first I thought you were having a nightmare about momma and dad and I get those too sometimes s-so I just thought that maybe I could help you but," his brow creased and Bilbo felt as if a fist replaced his heart when Frodo looked up at him, "you didn't shout their names. Who's Thorin? Is he a monster? Did he hurt you?"

"No, he wasn't a monster," Bilbo said softly, pulling Frodo into a proper embrace.

"Who was he?"

"He- he was… a King. He helped the dwarves of Erebor reclaim their home from Smaug – a dragon! And I," he licked his lips, "I went with them and helped." _And got him and his nephews killed…_ "But Frodo," Bilbo leaned back to look his nephew in the eye, "what's this you were saying about nightmares?"

Frodo looked down at his hands, nervously wringing the blanket.

"It's okay to have nightmares. We're all scared of something and sometimes what we're scared of isn't something we can get rid of; not all fears are dragons that we can easily slay. Sometimes these things are memories or feelings or simply something we made up. During the day we can ignore these things or distract ourselves, but at the end of the day we're still scared."

Bilbo pulled his sniffling nephew in for a hug, planting a kiss on the top of his head. "It's okay, Frodo."

Frodo was sobbing as he snaked his arms around his uncle's waist, clutching his nightshirt as he clung to his uncle. "W-will I ever stop being scared?"

"Oh Frodo, Frodo, my lad, of course you will," Bilbo stroked his hair. "The world is a very mysterious place full of adventure and danger. Even those who don't leave the Shire have their fair share of it; just think of all the times you and your friends have been chased by Farmer Maggot for stealing his mushrooms!"

The stranglehold on his nightshirt let up slightly and relief coursed through Bilbo.

"Frodo, these things take time to heal. I can't promise that you'll wake up tomorrow and stop being scared and I don't know when you'll have nightmares again. But, Frodo, I can promise one thing: Every day will be easier than the day before, even if you don't realize it. One day you'll wake up and realize that the nightmares aren't as bad or that it's been weeks since the last one. "

"So they'd go away forever?"

Bilbo sighed, realizing that he couldn't shield his nephew from the world after all he'd been through. "Maybe, only time can tell. But there are good things that will come and take the place of these fears, whether you seek them out or no."

Frodo snuggled into the hug and Bilbo smiled. "Now! I think we still have a chance to get some sleep before breakfast and if you want to sleep here tonight, you can."

As Frodo made no move to go back to his room after letting go, Bilbo rearranged the blankets so that the two of them were as tucked in as he could manage. _I'll wash the bedding tomorrow_, Bilbo thought as tried to remove the flour-dusted waistcoat from his sleeping nephew.

Sleep didn't come easy to Bilbo that night. When he wasn't thinking about the nightmare – about feeling Thorin's hands around his neck and that awful grin – he was thinking about his nephew's situation.

Eventually Bilbo fell into a fitful sleep, his nephew curled up into his side.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I resume classes back at college in about a week and I'm trying to get as much of this story cranked out as possible before then, so the updates are going to keep coming every two or three days until classes start. Then I'll be updating at least once a week until the story ends.**

**Oh yeah standard disclaimer stuff where I own none of these characters because they're Tolkien's. **

**CHAPTER WARNING: none**

* * *

The sun shone in through the windows, catching on the flour in the air and making the air within Bag End dance in the morning light as the scratch of a broom against the floor filled the room.

The counters and table were once again clean, a damp cloth resting in the sink. Bilbo swept through the living room, slowly carving out a path through the flour that covered the floor like winter's first dusting of snow.

Bilbo continued going through the motions, occasionally looking back toward the growing pile of flour on the floor. The flour wasn't as clean as it was when the mess was made; he could see the crumbs and hair and dust and string and seeds and blades of grass that caught up in the sweeping. No matter how many times Bilbo sifted that flour, he knew that it would never be the same.

The scratching of the broom stopped, silence filling the room. Bilbo's breathing came in great, gasping heaves; each breath was drawn in as if the silence was going to drown him.

One hand left the broom to ghost at his throat, feeling the hands there as if it were only yesterday; guilt ate at his insides, gnawing at him like a trapped animal desperate to escape.

"There shouldn't be so much silence," Bilbo croaked, his voice cracking as the tears began to fall. "Y-y-you sh-should be here with me. I shouldn't s-still be h-having nightmares about you."

* * *

_Bilbo fumbled briefly with his keys before opening the door to Bag End, smiling up at the little hobbit seated firmly on Thorin's shoulders._

_"We're home!" Bilbo threw the door open and marched toward the kitchen; the walk back to Bag End took far longer than he expected and they had missed lunch, which simply wouldn't do. "Time for lu-"_

_"Bilbo." _

_Thorin stood outside the smial, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. Bilbo's head tilted to one side and he squinted slightly as he stared at Thorin. "Thorin," one hand moved toward his hip, "why haven't you set Frodo down so we can all go eat lunch?"_

_"No!" Frodo frowned down at his uncle, hands pulling closer to his chest; Thorin grunted and tilted his head back slightly._

_"Frodo," Bilbo sighed, his hand moving up from his waist to drag down his face. After a deep breath, he moved forward to envelop Frodo's hands in his own, moving them down slightly towards Thorin's head. "Do you know how important braids are to a dwarf?"_

_Frodo shook his head, a pout still on his face as he tightened his hold on the braids._

_"Well, they're as important to a dwarf as much as the hair on our feet are to us. You wouldn't like it if somebody kept pulling on that, would you?"_

_Frodo shook his head and let go of the braids. "I don't want to go down yet."_

_Bilbo smiled up at his nephew, "And Uncle Thorin's too tall for you to come into Bag End like that – shall I bring food out for a picnic?"_

* * *

"No!" A door slammed open, its crash followed by the drumming of little feet running down the hall. "Don't leave me! Don't leave me!"

Bilbo dropped the broom and rushed into the hallway, not caring about the way the handle sent a small cloud of flour into the air as his nephew. "I'm here, Frodo. I'm right here," he kneeled down to wrap Frodo up in his arms. "I'm not going to leave you."

_The last time I said that to somebody was in that tent_. This realization sent memory coursing through Bilbo like poison; he held Frodo closer and did his best to keep his breathing under control.

Frodo wriggled a bit and Bilbo loosened his grip, hoping that he didn't squeeze his nephew too tight while his thoughts were elsewhere. Little hands cupped his cheeks and Bilbo looked up.

Frodo stood over him, concern plain on his face. "Uncle Bilbo, why are you crying? Do you miss momma and dad too?" He frowned and bit his bottom lip. "Was it because of Thorin? Does he live near here? Does he bully you?"

Bilbo choked back a sob and shook his head."Thorin," he took a deep breath, " was my king; my King Under the Mountain. I went with him and his Company to reclaim Erebor from a dragon, but he died."

Frodo stood there, awestruck. "Did the dragon kill him?"

"No," a sad smile, "Smaug did not kill him."

"Then how did he die?"

Bilbo looked at his nephew's face, he wasn't sure how to tell a twelve-year old that Thorin, Fili, and Kili died because of him; that his love and almost-nephews died because of his own failures.

At his age, Bilbo still believed that good would triumph over evil. All choices were only right or wrong; there were never any shades of grey in decision-making because there was only one right answer that was good for everyone. Most of all, Bilbo believed that at the end of the day everything would be okay; he could run home to Bag End, sit by the fire in a robe with a cup of tea, and all of his problems would disappear.

Bilbo never expected the gold sickness worming its way into Thorin, twisting his heart until all that mattered to him were riches. That Thorin's caresses would turn into a stranglehold; that Thorin would have killed Bilbo were it not for Gandalf's interference. That next would come a battle where so many died – so many were _slaughtered_.

Bilbo closed his eyes, pulling Frodo close. _I could have saved them, I _should_ have saved them – I was so close. I should have been more careful then maybe-_

"Uncle Bilbo, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, I sometimes don't wanna talk about momma and dad."

"Frodo," Bilbo ruffled his hair, a small smile on his face, "I think it's time for us to have a nice, big breakfast after we clean this kitchen up – then I'll tell you about Thorin; if you want you can tell me more about Prim and Drogo, hmm?"

* * *

**So nothing much happened in this chapter; I really just needed it to set the tone for their relationship and set up the rest of the story. I promise that things are going to get a little more interesting from here! **


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm sorry for the delay in this chapter; it just didn't want to happen and I've been fighting off the flu for the past week or so :[**

**Thank you so much for sticking with this story and for your reviews! I'm happy to see that you all seem to be happy with little Frodo – he's my favorite part of this story, to be super honest. (Especially to the guest reviewer – your comments made my day! That's exactly what I'm going for with this story and I'm so happy to see that that's showing in my writing! :D)**

**CHAPTER WARNING: none**

* * *

Neither Bilbo nor Frodo wanted to be the one who continued their conversation from breakfast; Frodo had never seen an adult so scared before, while Bilbo did not want to force his nephew to talk about his parents if he was not ready to. And so breakfast, second breakfast, elevensies, lunch, afternoon tea, and dinner had passed almost as if this were any other day in Bag End.

The afternoon was fading, but the heat of the day refused to leave – although that did not stop a group of faunts from stampeding up and down the row in a game of chase. Their screams and laughter broke through the lazy buzz of insects and occasional birdsong.

In the relative shade of Bag End's front garden, Bilbo was on his hands and knees; an ever-growing pile of weeds near his feet on walkway. Instead of fantasizing about Thorin watching him garden – _pretending he isn't checking out my bum _– Bilbo was lost in thought about his nephew, occasionally looking back when the young hobbit's voice caught his attention. It was nice to see Frodo playing with other kids in the area, especially because their day had gotten off to a rather rocky start.

All too soon, the sun began to set. Frodo walked up the lane to Bag End, a huge smile plastered on his red face.

"Uncle Bilbo! Did you see how fast I can run? Nobody could catch me and Sam and I decided that we're going to play again tomorrow because we both live really close and we have the same favorite food so we don't have to worry about eating something gross if we eat together!"  
Bilbo smiled up at his nephew as he chattered on about the friends he made as he finished pulling the last weeds from this part of the garden; replacing the mulch would simply have to wait until tomorrow.

Somehow Bilbo was able to guide them inside and into the bathroom, although Frodo nervously hung back by the door as Bilbo started to draw up a bath.

"Why are we in here, Uncle?"

"We're both absolutely filthy and need baths," Bilbo replied, smiling as he pulled various soaps and towels out of the cabinet. "You especially, you're still covered in flour from dinner last night!"

Bilbo poured some soap into the tub for a bubble bath, hoping that Frodo enjoyed some bubbles in his baths. "Now Frodo, let's get you und-"

Frodo was leaning into the doorframe, grasping it with white-knuckled hands.

"Frodo?"  
"No I won't take a bath."

_Of course, he's scared of the water!_ Bilbo turned the faucets off, and rushed to crouch next to his nephew and envelop him in his arms. Frodo turned and wrapped his arms around Bilbo's neck, burying his face in the crook of his uncle's neck. Bilbo rubbed Frodo's back as he cried, occasionally murmuring words of encouragement until Frodo hung limply in his arms.

"Are you okay, Frodo?" Bilbo asked, leaning back just far enough to take a peek at his nephew's face.

Frodo frowned and shook his head. "I'm not taking a bath," he stated.

"And why not?"

"Because I'll drown and don't want to drown."

"Oh, Frodo," Bilbo hugged him closer, one hand combing through his curls as he ignored the way his legs began to cramp from crouching for so long. "It's just a bath, nothing can get you in the bath – not while I'm here. And I'll be right here the entire time, I promise."

Frodo wiped his nose with the back of his hand as he warily eyed the tub, loud sniffles punctuating the silence. "Can you save me if I start to drown?"

Bilbo wanted to smile, but kept his face serious. "I swear to you, Frodo, that I will never let you drown on my watch."

"Is it okay if I'm still scared of drowning?"

"Frodo, my lad, it's perfectly fine to be scared," Bilbo stood up, gently guiding his nephew towards the tub. "Tell me more about your new friend Sam, hmm?"

* * *

After both hobbits had bathed and the dishes from supper were put back in the cupboards, Bilbo and Frodo were on the floor in front of the fireplace. They were playing with painted wooden toys; warriors were fighting against trolls before they could make it to the dragon's home on Bilbo's favorite armchair.

"I am king of the Shire!" Frodo yelled, wiggling one of the warriors at the pile of trolls.

"Quick, sire, we must defeat the dragon and save the Shire!" Bilbo had his warrior reply before reaching up to grab the dragon. "Oh that's quite the nice Shire, I spy, full of fat little faunts to gobble up!"

"No, dragon! You can't win against the hobbits!" And the battle began, the dragon falling quickly against Frodo's legions of hobbits.

"All hail King Frodo, savior of the Shire!" Bilbo said as both of the toys in his hands bowed to Frodo, who by that point had erupted with giggles.

Bilbo smiled, happy to see his nephew so relaxed after the stressful night they'd had the night before and confronting his fears about the bathtub.

"Uncle Bilbo?"

"Hmm?" Bilbo was absentmindedly picking up the toys, his thoughts more concerned with what to prepare for breakfast the next day.

"Can I sleep in your bed again?"

"Of course."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry this chapter was so short! I blame the flu and moving back to college. Hopefully tomorrow will be another snow day which means more time to write!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hi! Sorry I haven't updated in forever! I lost my fight with the flu (I was so pathetically sick for weeks) and then I got hit with the stomach flu - and senior year of college has been unforgiving; especially because I'm a double major. Word of advice: never rotoscope anything ever. If you want to see what I was working on for weeks instead of this, check out my art tumblr (livingwithendoart) under the "my art" subheading.**

**CHAPTER WARNING: none**

* * *

Bilbo absently hummed a tune, lyrics that had been burned into his mind running through his head – _far over the Misty Mountains cold… –_ as he and Frodo pulled the corners of the fitted sheets over the mattress.

"Uncle Bilbo, I can't sleep."

"Frodo, you aren't even in bed yet," Bilbo said, trying his best to not chuckle.

"But I don't want to go to sleep," Frodo whispered. "I'm scared I'll have nightmares again."

"Oh, Frodo," Bilbo said, as he sat on the bed. "Is that what woke you up last night?"

Frodo only shifted his weight from foot to foot in response, his face clouding until tears threatened to fall from his eyes.

Memories of losing his parents, his King, and his almost-nephews flooded Bilbo's mind and weighed his heart down so that it felt like it had sunk into his stomach. Just the memory of the despair that once filled him let the feeling resurface; it was if his body had been wandering the wastes of Mordor for months on end – and this despair was the water he so desperately craved.

Quickly standing, hoping the sudden movement would shake his memories lose, Bilbo moved towards his nephew and enveloped him in a hug. It was a huge hug, the kind that Bilbo remembered being wrapped in often by Dís and Bofur. If Bilbo was being honest with himself he never expected to grow so close to Dís in his despair.

_No_, he corrected himself, _our despair. We grieved for the same people that had claimed such huge portions of our hearts. I never thought a friendship could grow from our loss._

It was Dís that had started forcing him to eat, that had looked after him when he could barely make himself move from the bed to the privy. After the funeral, Dís took all of her love for her brother and sons and put into taking care of Bilbo because Bilbo loved and was loved by her precious family.

"Frodo, you don't have to talk about this if you don't want to. I love you and I'm staying with you no matter what, even if you never talk about your nightmares."

That night the two slept in Bilbo's bed, Frodo firmly cuddled up into his uncle's side.

* * *

_A scream filled Bag End and jerked Thorin out of sleep. Before he was fully awake, he was in a defensive crouch on the bed; even decades of safety hadn't diminished the reflexes that had kept him alive after the desolation of Smaug. _

_"Frodo."_

_Thorin threw the blankets aside, the cold startling Bilbo into consciousness more than the sudden movement; Bilbo had grown used to the thrashing that came with Thorin's nightmares. _

_Another cry came from Frodo's room and Thorin was off as if Smaug had come back from the grave to attack their small family. Bilbo stumbed after him once he disentangled himself from the bed, concern for his nephew filling him with an almost overwhelming desire to protect the faunt. _

_Bilbo burst into the room and was greeted with the a sight that nearly made him cry: Thorin was sitting on Frodo's bed, with the hobbitling standing on his lap. Frodo's arms were wrapped around his uncle's neck and his face was buried into Thorin's neck, although the cascading beard and sleep-disheveled hair did nothing to muffle the sobs that seemed too loud for such a small body._

_Thorin simply sat there, letting Frodo cover him in snot and tears as he rubbed Frodo's back. _This is what he must have been like with Fíli and Kíli when they lost their dad,_ Bilbo thought, sadly grateful for Thorin's experience with young children losing a parent. _

_Bilbo sat on the bed next to them, reaching his arms around his nephew and husband. He wasn't sure how long they sat on the bed in silence, but not even exhaustion could keep Bilbo's attention away from Frodo._

_Once Frodo's sobs had turned to sniffles, Bilbo reached up and ruffled his nephew's hair. "Come sleep with us tonight, hmm? You can sleep right in between us and we'll keep you safe and never leave you."_

_Frodo nodded into Thorin's neck and reached out a hand to hold on to Bilbo. "Promise?"_

_"I promise." _

_Bilbo knew how foolish such promises were, after all one day he would die and had already faced death far more than a respectable hobbit should._

_He gave Thorin a nod and the group disentangled their limbs just enough that Thorin could carry Frodo back to their room._

_They all settled into the bed, Frodo curled up with his back to Thorin and one small hand grasping Bilbo's nightshirt. Bilbo waited until he was certain Frodo was asleep before he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know, I know. I shouldn't have made him a promise I can't keep."_

_"I would have promised had you not, mizimeth."_

_Bilbo felt muscles he did not even know were tense relax as tears sprang to his eyes. "What do we do, Thorin? How do we help him?"_

_"He has to help himself. After Fí-" Thorin cleared his throat, "after Víli died, I got the boys a puppy each. They had each other, but they needed the distraction and the unconditional love."_

_"Did it help?"_

_"Not me," Thorin tried to frown, but a smile crept up the his face. "Dís decided that because _I_ had given them the puppies it was my responsibility to help the boys train them and clean up after them when the boys wouldn't."_

_Bilbo stifled a laugh, thinking immediately of the stories he heard of the two Hellion Princes of Erebor and their Mangy Mutts – not that anyone would have called the dogs that in said princes' presence, of course. _

_"But it did help my nephews. The pups not only taught them responsibility, they brought my nephews out of a grief Dís and I were beginning to think would never go away. But my nephews had each other and they had their mother. I cannot imagine how lonely Frodo must feel," Thorin whispered, running one hand gently through the faunt's dark curls. _

_"Then let's get him a puppy."_

_Thorin sighed, remembering the months of dedication it took to properly train a dog and the lack of discipline his nephews had had in training Onyx and Jasper._

_"And here I thought I was going to be able to relax in my old age, Burglar."_

* * *

The sun poured in through the windows, marking the start of a new day. Hobbits across the Shire were already out and about, preparing their breakfasts as they got ready for the day to truly begin.

However, Bag End was free of the morning hustle and bustle; the two residents still lying asleep in their bed. As the day got brighter the curtains could no longer block enough light to let Bilbo Baggins sleep any longer.

_A puppy_, Bilbo thought to as he woke up, a glance at his still-sleeping nephew bringing a smile to his face. _Perfect._

* * *

**A/N: I have the rest of the story outlined, I just need to find the time to write! So far it's looking like there are going to be 15+ chapters in total so please be patient with me and I hope you enjoy the rest of this! :D**


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